


The Man on the Bridge

by Sunshinywoods



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Loneliness, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Sass, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-22 22:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6096376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunshinywoods/pseuds/Sunshinywoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who saves the hero?</p><p>Steve has no one in his life who remembers him as anything other than Captain America. There are times he feels himself fading into his uniform.</p><p>He's never quit in his search for Bucky - but Bucky doesn't need Steve to save him and he sees things Steve would rather keep hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic ever posted to AO3. Big thanks to BK for beta-ing!
> 
> Comments are love! Please let me know if I'm missing tags, more will be added as needed.
> 
> Without further ado! *cue story*

Steve Rogers, more often known now as Captain America, fumbled his apartment keys as he tried to unlock the front door with one hand and cradle his ribs with the other. The blood on his fingers made the keys slippery and they clattered out of his fumbling hand and onto the scuffed floor.

Steve stared at the bloody keys on the floor, then up at the door.

Would bending over to pick up the keys hurt more or less than kicking the door open?

“God damn it,” he muttered. Wincing, he looked up and down the empty hallway. It was 4am on a weekday, there was no one awake to overhear him. Still, he sighed, tugging on his uniform. Torn, bloody, but still recognizably Captain America.

Firming his lips, Steve knelt, scooping up the keys and unlocking his door in a more or less smooth motion. He ignored the way his ribs screamed at him until he was on the right side of the door, safe in his apartment. He threw the locks and dropped the errant keys on the small entry table that held a lamp and a houseplant which stubbornly held onto life despite being more brown than green.

Shuffling his way to the bathroom, he avoided his reflection in the mirror. Clenching his teeth, Steve set about the unpleasant task of removing his uniform.

When he was naked, Steve took catalogue of his injuries. Two, maybe three broken ribs on his right side, penalty for not dodging fast enough. A deep laceration in his thigh still oozing blood. Another on his arm that had closed and then split open again, causing the slippery fingers. A badly sprained ankle on the same leg with the laceration. That’d been a bitch to hide from the others, but Steve hadn’t wanted to see the doctor.

He’d just wanted to go home.

He’d heal.

So he’d refused to limp as much as possible, though Natasha had likely seen through him. There were countless other scrapes and bruises, already beginning to heal.

Everything was healing, though the ribs would take longer. Steve didn’t care. He was home, for the first time in several days. Here he wasn’t in charge of anyone or anything but himself. Here he didn’t need a uniform, or a shield - barring any half-dead Shield operatives coming to him for help. But that was few and far between, so he figured he could relax.

Steve turned the shower on, letting the water run until the bathroom filled with steam. He stepped in and let the hot water wash it all away.  


Later, his thigh bandaged and leg propped on some pillows, Steve reclined on the couch. He’d given up finding a position that didn’t make his ribs ache. He was in loose sweats, no shirt. After putting pants on he’d decided that was enough movement for the night, and settled onto the couch.

A sketchbook and charcoals rested on his lap. He opened the sketchbook and thumbed through the pages. A handful of quick lines, barely enough to be considered outlines, were scattered on the first few pages. Nothing very detailed and nothing complete.

He stopped on an empty page, staring at the paper fibers. He picked up a charcoal pencil from the case and moved his hand over the page. The tip of the pencil hovered over the paper for a few long seconds before his hand began to move, drawing sweeping lines.

Steve was tired. Tired in a way that soaked through every part of him, settled deep into his bones. He couldn’t remember how many days it’d been since he’d slept. Bruce would have given him a look of doctorly concern, peering over the top of his glasses. If Bruce were here that is, instead of wherever in the world he’d ran away to.

Steve used more pressure on the pencil, darkening the lines, deepening the shadows.

The apartment was quiet. The hum of the refrigerator, the soft ticking of the clock in his bedroom, the muffled sound of the city outside the windows. Everything was as he’d left it, four days ago. He’d have to do another sweep for bugs but it could wait until morning.

Natasha had stopped him on his way out of the Avenger facility. She’d looked him up and down and said, “You’re looking a little rough around the edges there, Captain.” She’d grinned and tilted her head just so. Easy, like they hadn’t both nearly died, like Wanda wasn’t in the cradle having muscle and skin grafted onto her.

“It’s been a long day,” he’d answered, all business. He knew she was feeling the same weariness he was. He could always gauge her state by how far she fell into the Black Widow, pulling her alter-ego over her like a shield.

“Go rest, Natasha,” he’d suggested, too weary for orders. She’d smiled and flicked her fingers in farewell, like he couldn’t see the tight way she held herself, and how smoothly the smile slid on and off her face.

Steve’s hand slowed to a stop and he blinked, focusing on the whole of the sketch instead of just the next line. He could see his beginning strokes, loose and aimless, before the image began to take shape and his focus deepened.

He’d drawn the antarctic again. Jagged ice flows hiding chilling ocean water. The dark lines made the scene stand out in stark relief, the ice looking sharp enough to cut, the fields of snow unending.

Flipping the sketchbook closed, he dropped it and the pencils on the floor with a smack.

He rubbed his face and settled more firmly against the couch. Closing his eyes, he rested in the soft glow of the lamp for a long time.  


The sharp _trill_ of his cell phone jerked Steve awake. It continued to ring as he hauled himself to his feet and limped to the bathroom. Grunting, he gentled his body to bend and pulled his phone out of the uniform pocket he’d left it in.

The phone quieted long enough for Steve to see he had three missed calls before beginning to _trill_ again, vibrating in his hand.

He swiped _Answer_ and held the phone to his ear.

Sam’s voice echoed down the line. “I’ve found him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 teaser:
> 
> Turning, every move careful and precise, Steve met the gaze of the man standing in his living room, his back to the window so his face was in shadow. The glow of the street lights filtered past long hair and gleamed off a metal arm.


	2. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter but never fear - chapter 3 is almost done and it's already twice as long!

The next morning Steve was in New Jersey, staring at an empty apartment. It had been for sale for months, the owner refusing to lower the price to meet market demands. The apartment had the faint musty smell of emptiness.

“You’re sure he was here?” Steve glanced back at Sam, who was leaning against the kitchen doorway, watching Steve steadily.

Sam crossed his arms and nodded. “I’m sure. I have surveillance photos to back it up. He stayed in this empty apartment, leaving several times. I’m guessing he went and visited your old training grounds, given they’re just a few miles from here. Why else be in Jersey?”

Steve looked around the living room, trying to imagine a leather-clad man with a metal arm relaxing in this space.

Sighing, Steve turned back to Sam. “You think his memories are coming back?” His voice was calm, not betraying the roiling tension that had his stomach in knots.

Sam shook his head, dropping his arms to take a few steps towards Steve. “I don’t know, man. He could be trying to understand returning memories. He could be trying to piece together a past he can’t remember at all, but knows happened.”

Sam reached out and clasped Steve’s shoulder, applying firm pressure. “The only way to find out for sure is to ask him.” He met Steve’s eyes for a long moment. 

Giving Steve a gentle shake, Sam let go and headed for the door. “Take your time. I’m going to go interview to the cute barista in the coffee shop across the street. Maybe she talked to our missing person.”

“Leave no stone unturned, huh Sam?” Steve answered wryly.

Sam flashed him a grin as he left, flicking his fingers in a lazy salute.

 

 

When Sam’s footsteps faded, Steve closed his eyes and cradled his aching ribs with one arm. He’d wrapped his torso and with his super soldier serum he’d be healed in a week. Until then though, his ribs ached and he could practically feel the bone knitting back together. It was not a pleasant sensation.

His ankle also was complaining loudly, though it at least would heal more quickly than his ribs. Thankfully, the laceration in his thigh had closed and only sent occasional spikes of pain.

Feeling like an old man, Steve shuffled into the only bedroom and flipped on the light.

The room was empty of furniture. Because he was looking for it, Steve could see light scuffs on the floor on one corner, likely where someone had slept for a few nights. The apartment felt far too empty for it to have been occupied for long.

Steve opened every door and stood in every room of the apartment. If Sam hadn’t told him their missing person had been here, if Sam didn’t have photographic proof, Steve would never have thought anyone had stayed here.

There was the faintest whiff of gun oil, if Steve closed his eyes and focused. It was likely just his brain playing tricks on him, trying to give him something he could sense.

Steve continued to wander around the apartment, though he’d long since stopped looking for clues. He found himself standing in the bedroom again, looking at the corner where someone had slept.

“Where are you?” He asked. The emptiness gave no response.

 

 

Several hours later, Steve was once again unlocking his apartment door. This time he didn’t drop the keys, aided by the lack of blood.

He and Sam had visited a few more locations they thought it likely their missing person had visited. Despite talking to locals, no one had any information for them. Most of the people they interviewed hadn’t noticed anyone out of the ordinary, despite Sam’s photos showing someone truly out of the ordinary had indeed been there.

Steve unlocked the door and went into his apartment, turning to slam the door closed and lock it, tossing his keys on the side table as usual.

Something caught his eye and Steve went still. He stared at the house plant. It looked healthy. The brown leaves had been removed and the dirt was dark where it had been recently watered. He touched a green leaf with one finger.

Turning, every move careful and precise, Steve met the gaze of the man standing in his living room, his back to the window so his face was in shadow. The glow of the street lights filtered past long hair and gleamed off a metal arm.

“Bucky-” 

A blur of movement from the figure and a knife hurtled towards Steve’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 teaser:
> 
> Bucky frowned. “Broken ribs, puncture wounds to the arm and thigh, severely sprained ankle.”
> 
> Steve’s jaw dropped. “You can tell that just by how I move?”
> 
> Bucky frowned even harder.
> 
> “Strip.”


	3. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next chapter! It's longer than the last two combined, woot! Shoutout to betas BK and Panda for support and feedback.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who already commented, left kudos, subscribed, or bookmarked. It's been very motivating to keep writing. :)

Steve lunged away from the knife, too startled for the movement to be smooth. He rolled to his feet and faced the Winter Soldier, arms raised defensively. His ribs screeched with pain though he tried not to show it.

The soldier made no move towards Steve, just watched him.

“Don’t call me Bucky.”

Steve gaped. “What-what should I call you then?” Before he could respond Steve interrupted, “Wait, did you _throw a knife_ at me for calling you Bucky?”

The soldier glared at him. It was very close to the his normal stare, but Steve could see the extra anger that made it venomous. Probably because he said the B-word.

“My name is James Barnes, apparently. Call me Barnes.”

“I’ve known you since we were kids. I’m not calling you by your last name. Can I call you James at least?”

The soldier’s hand twitched and Steve thought he was probably resisting the urge to throw another knife. Steve couldn’t help it though - Barnes felt almost as wrong as calling him the Winter Soldier.

The solider’s lips thinned and his face tightened with annoyance. “Fine.”

“What-” Steve felt unmoored. The last thing he had expected was to have Bucky here, of all places. “What are you doing here? I’ve been searching for you for over a year!”

Steve took a step towards Bucky, clenching his hands into fists to avoid grabbing on to him, as though his strength alone could keep Bucky here.

“I know,” Bucky remained expressionless. His eyes fell to Steve’s clenched fists and he shifted into a more ready stance.

“You know?” Steve took another step forward. “You know what exactly?”

“You’ve been looking for me.”

“How long have you known?”

Bucky blinked and flexed his metal arm. “Since you started.”

Steve made himself take a step back, unclench his fists. He had the wild urge to punch Bucky in the face. He couldn’t say why - he thought he’d be happier to see Bucky but he just felt the jagged sharpness even more.

Bucky tilted his head, watching Steve with something approaching curiosity. “You are upset. Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” The word blurted out before Steve could hide the desperation in it. “No,” he repeated, almost inaudible. Steve rubbed his face with both hands, half expecting Bucky to be gone when his eyes opened again, a figment of his imagination.

Steve lowered his hands and Bucky was still there, watching him. How could he be so steady when Steve felt like something was shaking loose inside of him?

“Stay. Please stay.”

Bucky shrugged, a small lift of his shoulders. “Nowhere else to go.”

Steve sat on the couch and felt the tension lower in the room. Bucky’s alert stance relaxed an inch. “Why now? After a year of watching me fruitlessly search, why now?”

Bucky’s eyebrows drew together. “Been everywhere else. Nowhere else to go.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Steve couldn’t stop his eyes from running over his old friend, so familiar and yet so different. Bucky wore civilian clothes, apparently ditching the leather for something more subtle. The hoodie and jeans he wore were black and worn around the edges. He’d either been wearing them for a long time or they’d been well-worn when Bucky acquired them. His hair was longer than when Steve had seen him last, and ragged at the edges, as though he’d made an attempt to cut it himself.

Bucky’s eyes were focused on Steve, clear of the confusion that had clouded them the last time they’d talked. He watched Steve watch him. Eventually, his head tilted just slightly to the right and Steve flushed to realize he’d just been staring at Bucky in silence for several minutes.

He shifted on the couch, which proved to be a mistake as it deepened the grating ache in his side. Before he could say something - anything really - Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he took a step towards where Steve sat.

“You’re injured,” Bucky’s tone was - disapproving?

Steve blinked. “I-”

“You moved fine earlier but now you’re holding yourself like you’re hurt.”

“Well, I had to dodge a _knife_ thrown at my face!”

Bucky flicked his fingers in a gesture of dismissal. Steve found himself pulled to his feet by a metal hand, too surprised at Bucky’s sudden change of focus to do more than squawk out an undignified, “Hey!”

Bucky frowned. “Broken ribs, puncture wounds to the arm and thigh, severely sprained ankle.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “You can tell that just by how I _move_?”

Bucky frowned even harder.

“Strip.”

Steve’s jaw couldn’t drop any lower so his eyes bugged out instead. “Excuse me?”

Bucky’s expression began to inch towards murderous.

“Glowering at me isn’t going to get you anywhere, I think that’s just how your face looks now.”

A metal hand tugged at Steve’s shirt as though to pull it off and Steve slapped his hand away on reflex. Bucky pulled back, outrage in the furrowing of his brow.

“Did you just slap my hand like I’m five? Have you lost your mind?”

“Have _I_ lost my mind? I’m not taking my clothes off, what’s wrong with you!”

There was a long silence where Bucky just glared at Steve. Through gritted teeth he eventually growled out, “Where is your first aid kit?”

“In the bathroom,” Steve waved a vague hand in the right direction and Bucky stalked off, disappearing and reappearing with the the kit in hand. Steve sank back onto the sofa with a sigh.

“Buck - James,” Steve corrected himself as Bucky strode back to the couch. “I was injured but I’m fine now.”

Bucky ignored Steve and knelt on the floor by his feet, setting down the first aid kit and examining its contents. Steve shifted, uncomfortable with Bucky kneeling before him. “It’s a standard kit. It’s all there.”

Bucky continued his inventory. “You are injured, why is every piece still here.” It wasn’t a question, so much as a demand, which Steve felt was unfair.

“Because I don’t need it. I’m fine!”

Without saying a word, or changing expression, Bucky poked Steve sharply in his thigh, directly over the healing laceration.

“Ow!” Steve kicked at Bucky with his good foot, a blow which Bucky blocked looking bored, if anything. “What the hell, Bucky!”

At the B-word, Bucky glared and poked Steve just as sharply in his injured ankle, pain radiating out.

“God damn it, stop poking me!” Steve tried to kick him again but Bucky caught and held his foot, tucked between Bucky’s arm and his side.

“Stop saying you’re fine when you’re not fine.”

“Fine!”

“Good.”

Steve crossed his arms, not sure how his life had come to this. His hurt ankle throbbed. “Will you let my foot go now? It’s my only good one left.”

Bucky released his hold, turning his attention to Steve’s injured ankle. Before Steve could protest, Bucky had removed Steve’s shoe and was pulling off his sock.  Steve went still as Bucky’s fingertips ghosted over Steve’s skin, feeling for the extent of his injury.

“B-James, it’s just a sprain.”

Bucky didn’t even glance up. He lifted Steve’s foot and rested it on his own thigh before starting to wrap the bandage around the injured joint.

Steve fell silent and watched Bucky’s hands move with swift confidence. Bucky’s thigh was firm and muscled against the sole of his foot. It didn’t take long before his ankle was securely wrapped.

Bucky set Steve’s foot down and leaned back on his heels, his green eyes assessing.

“Let me check your ribs, they’re what you’re favoring the most.”

A protest rose in Steve’s throat but died before reaching his lips. His ankle did feel better and he didn’t want to endure another poke assault.

Steve tugged off his shirt without a word, bunching it in his hands, and scooted forward so he was on the edge of the couch.

Cloth rustled as Bucky moved forward. A careful hand ran over the purple-blue bruising that stained Steve’s side. Steve gritted his teeth through the worst of it and tried to pretend it was pain making goosebumps flare along his skin, not the heat of Bucky’s hand.

Buck grunted, his hand leaving Steve’s skin, only to return moments later with another bandage. In a few minutes, Steve’s torso resembled a mummy and the bone-deep ache he’d been ignoring began to lessen.

Sighing, Steve leaned back into the couch. He fidgeted with the shirt still crumpled in his hands. “Thanks, James.”

Bucky’s posture relaxed and most of the annoyance in his expression bled away. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“I-” Steve closed his mouth. He did really want to just stretch out on the couch and rest for a few minutes. “Fine, you win.”

It wasn’t until he had eased himself horizontal and had his eyes closed that he was able to ask the question that’d been tumbling through him since he’d seen Bucky’s silhouette in his apartment.

“You’ll stay?”

The refrigerator hummed in the background, and someone in street was honking their horn.

Bucky’s quiet “I’ll stay” rang through him like a bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 Teaser:
> 
> Steve rose from the couch and moved towards Bucky, stopping within reach. His hand twitched and he wanted to touch Bucky, to confirm that he was real and breathing and here. He had bullet holes in him, testament to the truth that Bucky was indeed flesh and blood, but still he wanted to put his hand on Bucky’s chest and feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.
> 
> “I thought you said you would stay?” Steve couldn’t help the faint accusation that crept into his voice.
> 
> Bucky’s face remained impassive except for the faintest crinkling around his eyes. He raised his human hand and reached out, squeezing Steve’s shoulder in a firm grip. “I will stay with you. But you don’t have to stay here.”
> 
> ************
> 
> Squee! See y'all in the next chapter.
> 
> Comments/kudos/bookmarks/subscribes/warm thoughts are all very welcome. <3


	4. Debt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is done (in the nick of time)! Hope you like it. :)
> 
> Big hugs and thanks to my betas for this chapter: Birdie, Shady, and Panda.

“I want you to leave with me.”

Steve stirred to awareness, Bucky’s rough voice pulling him from sleep. Feeling disoriented, Steve sat up on the couch, mindful of his ribs. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to make sure he hadn’t drooled in his sleep without looking like he was checking to see if he’d drooled in his sleep.

Bucky was standing near the window, in the same position he’d been in when Steve had come home the night before. This time his stood in the morning light and his metal arm shone.

“Did you say something?”

Bucky turned to face Steve, his face impassive. “I want you to leave with me.”

The grogginess of sleep left Steve in a rush. “Leave?”

Bucky remained silent, just watching him. Steve rubbed his hands against his legs, trying to think. He realized he’d never put his shirt on last night. He was only wearing his jeans and the bandages Bucky had wrapped him in. Flushing, he scanned his surroundings before spotting his shirt crumpled on the floor by the couch. Putting as minimal strain on his ribs as possible, while still moving with some speed, Steve scooped up his shirt and pulled it on.

“I don’t understand, James. Where do you want to go? I can’t really just leave - I have responsibilities here.”

Bucky’s face remained neutral. “As Captain America.”

“Yes, as Captain America.” Steve felt a pang slice through him. His jeans were rough under his fingers. “It’s who I am. They need me here.”

Something moved through Bucky’s eyes, an emotion Steve couldn’t decipher before it was gone. The silence stretched between them.

“What about your responsibility to me. Steve Rogers to James Barnes.” The words formed a question but Bucky said them flatly. “Or are you only Captain America, as I am only the Winter Soldier?”

It took Steve a long moment to respond, his voice leaving him as though it’d been knocked out. “You are more than the Winter Soldier.”

Steve’s voice closed and his hands clenched into fists. He blinked rapidly and forced his breathing into calmness. He tried not to remember his reaching fingers grasping on empty air and the horror on Bucky’s face as he began to fall.

“You are more than that. And I do owe you, Steve Rogers to James Barnes.”

Steve rose from the couch and moved towards Bucky, stopping within reach. His hand twitched and he wanted to touch Bucky, to confirm that he was real and breathing and here. Steve had bullet holes in him, testament to the truth that the man in front of him was indeed flesh and blood, but still he wanted to put his hand on Bucky’s chest and feel the steady thump of his heartbeat.

“I thought you said you would stay?” Steve couldn’t help the faint accusation that crept into his voice.

Bucky’s face remained impassive except for the faintest crinkling around his eyes. He raised his human hand and reached out, squeezing Steve’s shoulder in a firm grip. “I will stay with you. But you don’t have to stay here.”

Steve leaned into Bucky’s grasp, just a little. Just enough to feel the strength in Bucky bracing him.

“I can’t just leave, James.” Steve raised a hand as Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I’m not saying no, I’m just saying I need to make arrangements before I go.” The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “You’re skilled enough to make yourself untraceable, I’ve only recently had practice with that and it was less than ideal.”

Bucky’s face settled back into his watchful, neutral expression. “I can keep us safe.”

Steve smiled despite the twisting in his chest. “I know, James. I know you can keep us safe. You’ve had plenty of practice pulling me out of bad situations. Let me see if I can make things easier on us to begin with. If not, we’ll try things your way. You can teach me all the spy skills Natasha hasn’t been able to drill in my head.”

Bucky released Steve’s shoulder and moved back a step, his eyes cold. In a blink it was the Winter Soldier standing before Steve, the only sign of Bucky in the lingering warmth on his shoulder.

The tension ratcheted up in the room as Steve had to forcibly stop himself from falling into a defensive stance. The Winter Soldier’s weight shifted to the balls of his feet at Steve’s aborted movement.

Steve moved back onto his heels and spread his arms, palms up. His instincts were screaming that he was facing a threat, his muscles tense with the knowledge. His heartbeat raced in his chest, but his voice was steady. “James, it’s ok. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The Winter Soldier’s metal hand twitched towards the gun at his hip before stilling.

“I wasn’t trained as a spy.” The Winter Soldier’s voice was matter-of-fact, like they were discussing the weather. His eyes though, they bore into Steve as if daring him to look away. “I was trained as an assassin.

“You spent 70-odd years frozen in the ice and I spent 70-odd years killing who they told me to kill. I was able to evade your search because I’ve had years upon years of avoiding police, agents, anyone who would try to stop me from reaching my target and completing my mission. I ended who they told me to end and disappeared into shadow, into time. I was the monster the bogeymen fear.”

A blur and Steve had to force himself to stillness as the Winter Soldier was suddenly right in front of him. Steve didn’t move as a metal hand rose and curved against his neck, a thumb over Steve’s thundering pulse.

The Winter Soldier’s hand didn’t move, just rested against Steve’s skin, cool and unyielding. The threat didn’t need to be spoken, Steve knew the strength of that arm all too well. It took all of his willpower to stay still, arms open, his eyes on those green ones, as hard as emeralds in the Winter Soldier’s face.

“Do you see?” The metal fingers tightened a hairsbreadth in emphasis.

Slowly, telegraphing his movement, Steve raised his arm and grasped the Winter Soldier’s warm shoulder. He squeezed gently, mimicking the way Bucky had touched him just a few minutes ago.

“I see you.” He lightened his grip, his thumb moving in slow circles. “I’ve always seen you, even when you couldn’t see yourself.” 

Just like that, Steve calmed, his pulse slowing. It was true. He could see Bucky in the Winter Soldier, just as the Winter Soldier sometimes looked through Bucky’s eyes. They were intertwined, most likely irrevocably so, but a piece of his Bucky always remained. Steve believed in that part of him with all the faith and loyalty Steve’s heart could hold.

The arm not gasping the Winter Soldier fell back to Steve’s side. Steve leaned into that implacable grip on his throat and closed his eyes, accepting.

There was a sharp inhale, not originating from Steve, and those metal fingers fell away from his throat. Steve opened his eyes as Bucky pulled away from him.

Bucky’s expression was muted, but he looked unsettled. His metal hand opened and closed before stilling when he realized Steve was watching. Bucky moved around Steve, keeping out of arm’s reach. He strode for the apartment door, pausing only to throw a gruff, “Make your arrangements,” in Steve’s direction.

The door slammed on Steve’s cry of, “ _ Bucky _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No teaser yet! Sorry, I'm behind schedule - I'll add one as soon as I have one.
> 
> <3 <3 <3 to everyone who has read this story so far. This is my first fic I've ever written/posted so it means a lot to have people enjoy and want more!
> 
> That wasn't at all eloquent, but I hope it made sense. See you next week for chapter 5!


	5. Choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been approximately a million years since I posted a new chapter, but here you go! I'm seeing Civil War tomorrow and have used my excitement to actually get some writing done.
> 
> This is unbeta'ed as I'm impatient to share. :)

In the end, Steve called Natasha. He deliberated for a long time about who he should notify and then procrastinated even longer by cleaning his apartment. It didn’t distract him for as long as he’d hoped - it looked like someone had already swept through and neatened things. Steve stared at the clean cups and plates in the dishwasher. He hadn’t put them there. He tried to imagine Bucky putting dishes away and wiping down counters and felt his head begin to ache.

Giving himself a shake, he strode into his bedroom and pulled out a worn duffel and began to pack. Steve’s room, at least, was as messy as he’d left it, no sign that Bucky had ventured here. He packed as though he were going to be gone for a week, though he suspected it would be longer than that.

When there wasn’t anything left to clean or pack, Steve began to pace. He thought about Bucky’s hand gripping his shoulder after his mother’s funeral, reminding him he wasn’t alone. He remember the cold jolt of shock as the Winter Soldier’s mask fell off, revealing Bucky with no recognition in his eyes. He felt the bright pain of bullets tearing into him as he struggled to finish his mission, the pain more bearable than fighting Bucky any longer. 

Mostly, Steve thought about seeing Bucky’s silhouette in his apartment, the surge of adrenaline that made his - Captain America’s - hands tremble. How his body had tightened into readiness when Bucky’s eyes met his. The emotions that rushed through him too fast to hold on to, but that anchored him to that room, that moment. Steve fought for a living, defying death, the odds, and sometimes his own friends to do what was needed - and, yet, that night in his apartment with Bucky was the last time he’d felt so alive, so present, since he unmasked the Winter Soldier.

Steve dialed Natasha’s number and listened to the phone ring.

“Cap? How many times do I have to tell you to text like a normal person,” she answered, teasing him.

“Natasha-” he hesitated, searching for words. He would have to leave Bucky out of this, he knew she wouldn’t understand, though she’d likely figure it out eventually.

“Is everything all right?” Natasha’s concern, and the edge to it that promised she would be there in a heartbeat to start kicking ass, warmed him.

“Yes, everything’s fine. I need a favor and I’m not sure how to ask.” Steve decided to go with blunt honesty.

“Just ask, I’ll help if I can.”

“I need to leave for a while, probably a few weeks. I know it’s not much notice, but can you handle things for me until I get back?”

“Did something happen?” Is there someone’s ass I need to kick, her tone asked.

Steve fell silent again. I woke up and my world was gone, he wanted to say, but she knew that, they all did.

“Steve, are you ok?”

It was such a simple question, it shouldn’t have made his eyes sting.

“Nat, I-” Breathe, Steve. Stick with honesty. “No, not really.” Natasha was silent on the other end of the phone, but he felt her complete attention. 

“When I haven’t been actively on a mission, I’ve been training people to go on missions and preparing for the next disaster. It’s kept me busy, kept me occupied. I keep meaning to take a break, breathe, settle into my life here, but there’s always the next emergency. I just realized if I need time, I’m going to have to take it.”

It wasn’t until he said the words that Steve realized how true they were.

“I’m not just asking you to cover for me for a couple weeks, I’m asking you to help me have some space. I know I’ll never have the privacy of a normal life, but can you buy me some time to be Steve for a little while?” He knew Natasha would read between the lines. Don’t follow me, don’t let the Avengers track me, and if you do have to keep an eye on me, don’t act on what you see.

It was Natasha’s turn to be silent for long enough that Steve tensed and started worrying about what he would do it she said no. Bucky said he could hide them and he had been able to evade Steve’s searching this whole time-

“Yes, ok, I’ll do it.” Steve sat down on his bed more suddenly than he intended. Natasha interrupted his wave of relief, “I have one condition though, and I want your word that you will honor it.”

“What is it?”

“You will immediately call me if you are in trouble and you’ll wait until I get there before doing anything you can’t undo.”

“Natasha-” he started to protest. 

“No,” she interrupted him without a qualm. “I mean it. And I’m not just talking about you getting into a fight. You said you weren’t ok. I want you to promise me that if that starts changing for the worse, you will call me and you won’t do anything until I get there.”

“What is it, exactly, that you think I’ll do?”

She ignored his deflection attempt. “Are you going to promise and go on your vacation or do you want me to come over there and we’ll really get into everything.”

Steve wondered what it said about him that he surrounded himself with people who could be just as relentless and driven as he was.

“I promise.”

“Then we have a deal. Call and check in with me once a week or I will hunt you down.” Natasha hung up the phone and that was that.

 

It was probably pathetic that a part of Steve wanted to sit and wait in his apartment until Bucky came back. Steve felt a strange fear that Bucky would leave without him if he came back and Steve wasn’t there.

After several minutes of fighting with himself, Steve left and headed to Sam’s. A phone call wouldn’t be enough for Sam, not after the months upon months they’d spent searching.

It wasn’t until Steve was standing on Sam’s front porch that he paused to consider if Sam would be working. He still led meetings for veterans whenever possible, on a volunteer basis. His Avenger duties, as well as their own private mission, kept Sam pretty busy, but he always made sure to carve out time for at least a few meetings a month.

Steve was in luck though, Sam answered the door after a few sharp knocks.

“Steve!” Sam’s surprise quickly edged into concern and he looked Steve up and down as though searching for injury. “Is everything ok? You know you’re always welcome, but you usually call first.”

Steve felt his face shift, emotions tumbling in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he looked like, but whatever Sam saw spurred him to grab Steve’s arm and pull him into the house.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Sam’s voice, more often playful than not, was deadly serious, his hand tight on Steve’s arm.

Steve looked into Sam’s warm eyes. “He found me, Sam. He found me.”  
“Who’s found you?” Steve felt Sam’s body jerk in the direction of the bedroom, where he kept a spare set of wings.

“Bucky found me.” Steve sounded dazed, even to himself, and he realized he was leaning heavily into Sam’s hold.

“Did he hurt you?” The iron in Sam’s voice shook Steve out of some of his daze.

“No. No, he didn’t. He took care of me actually.” Steve lifted up his shirt to show Sam a peek of his bandaged ribs.

Steve wavered and found his feet as Sam relaxed and loosened his hold. A mischievous grin broke out on Sam’s face. “Didn’t take him long to get you out of your clothes, eh?”

“Sam!”

Sam laughed and after a beat Steve joined him, more out of relief at the break in tension than humor. He shoved down the memory of Bucky’s fingers grazing over his skin. He’d puzzle over that, and the way goosebumps broke over his skin when recalled it, later, when he was alone.

Steve paced up and down the livingroom. “He was just there in my apartment. Like he’d always been there. Like when you lose something and look everywhere and can’t find it and then you look where you know you’ve searched already and there it is, like it was never lost. Except maybe it’s a little dinged up and it’s changed some, but it’s still what you were looking for. Standing right there in front of you. He wants me to go with him, on a road trip or something, I don’t know. He didn’t specify, but - and I know I shouldn’t go, but I called Natasha and she’s going to cover for me. I didn’t tell her the details but she agreed anyway. I knew I had to tell you in person. I had to tell someone and you deserve to know. You searched for him too and I know you did it for me and that means a lot to me, Sam.” Steve paused in his pacing and stared at his hands. “It means a lot, Sam.”

When Steve looked up, Sam was watching him with a small smile. “What?” Steve realized, belatedly, that he’d been rambling.

“I’ve never seen you like this. You’re always so calm and collected. Reserved. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you so passionate about something that wasn’t related to ‘the greater good’.”

“Sam-”

“Do you want to go with him?”

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, paced away, and then paced back. “Sam-”  
“Come on. Simple question. There’s not a right or wrong answer, just the truth. Do you want to go with him?”

The answer was immediate and clear and terrifying. “Yes.”

“Then go. We’ll still be here when you get back. And you know if you need me, I’ll be there.”

Steve closed the distance between them in a heartbeat and hugged Sam until he squeaked and swatted at Steve, complaining about super strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love Bucky and Steve, it's surprisingly fun to write Steve and his friends interacting. Now that Steve has his affairs in order...there's nothing preventing him and Bucky with spending some quality time together ;)
> 
> Or is there?....muahahaha!
> 
> ...I'm actually pretty excited to write some smexy times with those two, so never fear, it's coming. (heh heh...hey, I can be mature, I just choose not too)
> 
> But for realsies, thank you to everyone who is still reading and interested in the story, it means a lot! <3


	6. Anchor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay new chapter - and in less than a month! :)
> 
> I'm not completely happy with this chapter but I think it's time to post it and move on to the next one. Hopefully you all enjoy!

When Steve returned home, his apartment was as he’d left it, packed duffel still waiting by the door. He walked in and stood in front of the window where he’d first seen Bucky.

It was evening, the streets were bustling with people returning home from work. Steve closed his eyes and let the sounds of the city wash around him. There was a child laughing across the street, loud and joyful. Someone was skateboarding, weaving in and out of pedestrians. Steve could hear the rattle of small tires on cement. A dog was barking in annoyance a few apartments down. There was a constant, low-grade hum of millions of people moving through their lives.

It was like standing on a small island while the ocean shifted and moved, teeming with life. Steve could watch the waves rise and crest, but he was separate from it, standing alone.

Goosebumps broke over Steve’s skin at a quiet sound behind him, almost out of the range of his hearing. He turned to find Bucky standing there, watching him.

“You came back,” Steve couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “I remember that - how much of a worrier you could be when you’re nervous.”

Steve tilted his head. “How much do you remember?”

The small smile left Bucky’s face and his eyes became unfocused. Eventually, after they both listened to the sound of the city for a while, he said, “Enough, and not enough.”

His sharp gaze took in Steve’s duffel. “You’re coming with me then?”

Steve nodded. “I’ll need to check in with Natasha once a week, but she’s going to hold down the fort and keep our path clear. I’m ready to go when you are.”

It only lasted a few seconds, the wide, easy grin that broke across Bucky’s face, but it made Steve’s heart skip a beat. He felt like he was 17 again and his friend had just talked him into another mishap-filled adventure. It should scare him, he knew, but all he could do was grin in return.

Bucky sobered and he stepped forward until he was in Steve’s space. “Do you really want to know what I remember?”

Steve paused at Bucky’s sudden closeness, but nodded. “I do. You lived through it, the least I can do is hear about it.”

Bucky’s lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “The bad things I can remember in detail. If I try, I can remember everything I did as the Winter Soldier. Screaming myself hoarse as they took apart my mind. Bodies falling with my bullets in them. How the cold always burned like fire when they put me back on ice.” Bucky’s voice was matter-of-fact, like he was reporting on the weather.

“My life as James Buchanen Barnes is like a shadow in comparison. My memories of that life are like smoke - they disperse as soon as I try to grab onto them. The only thing I remember with any certainty, is you.” Bucky stopped for a moment, his eyes scanning Steve’s face. Steve could only listen and try not to break the moment they’d stepped into. Like hiding under the covers in the dark, telling secrets and stories. Whispering so Steve’s mom wouldn’t find out Bucky had snuck in again.

“You, I remember in flickers. Pieces of memories here and there. Like how you would always make tea and then forget about it until it was cold. You’d drink it anyway so it wouldn’t go to waste. Or the way you’d rub your fingers over your thigh, like you’re doing now, which usually meant you were uncertain or unsure.”

Steve’s hand stilled on his leg, everything in him going quiet.

“I can’t remember my own parents’ faces, but I remember yours after Timothy from 4B beat you until both your eyes swelled shut. I can remember that asshole’s name and the apartment he lived in and how much I wanted to break his fingers for hitting you.

“I couldn’t let you fall to your death out of that helicarrier. I know it took me a while, but I couldn’t leave you alone in this new world either. The flickers of memory come and go, but I know the importance of your past. Having something to hold on to that reminds you of who you are and where you came from. I know I’m a poor choice but -” He paused again.

“I have these flickers of memory that I can’t hold on to, but there’s always this tumble of emotion that’s unique to memories of you. I don’t know how to unravel it, or even carry it very well, but I can’t seem to let it go either.”

Steve felt the light touch of fingers brushing the wetness on his cheek and realized he’d closed his eyes at some point. He opened them and met Bucky’s gaze, so close. Bucky’s fingertips rested on the line of Steve’s jaw.

“Do you feel it? Or is this just another part of my mind that I can’t trust?”

Steve leaned forward and let his forehead rest against Bucky’s. Their breath mingled and all of Steve’s awareness focused on the puff of Bucky’s breath against his lips and the small movement of Bucky’s thumb tracing a circle on Steve’s throat, over his thundering pulse. There was an awareness between them, beckoning.

“I feel it.” Steve’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible, like he was telling a secret for only Bucky to hear.

The light touch on his face and throat didn’t change as Bucky closed the few inches that separated them and brushed his lips against Steve’s, warm and soft.

Steve inhaled sharply but didn’t move, feeling that touch like an anchor. A pause, those lips resting against his. Steve’s mouth relaxed open and he kissed Bucky back.

Bucky’s lips were soft as they moved across his with teasing, light touches. A sound escaped Steve’s throat, embarrassing in its honesty. He gripped Bucky’s waist, holding on tight.

Bucky’s fingers moved from Steve’s jaw to card through his hair until he was cradling Steve’s head. He brought their foreheads together again. “Ok?”

Steve wasn’t sure if Bucky was asking if he felt ok or if he was ok with what they were doing. The only words that could leave Steve’s mouth were, “Don’t stop.”

This close there was no missing the hunger that flickered across Bucky’s face or the way his fingers tightened in Steve’s hair. 

This time it was Steve who closed the small distance between them. He nipped Bucky’s lower lip and teased his tongue into Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky groaned and the metal arm that had been hanging loose and away from Steve darted forward with a whir to grip Steve’s shoulder. Their bodies pressed together and Steve could feel every firm inch of Bucky, the strength that met and matched his own. Through the haze of heat that was curling through his body, Steve realized he wouldn’t need to hold himself back with Bucky. Bucky was strong, flesh and metal. He could meet Steve’s strength with his own, and more.

So Steve didn’t hold back. He lost himself in the warmth of Bucky’s mouth, the rasp of stubble against his lips, and the coiled power of the body pressed against his.

When they broke apart an indeterminable time later, they were both out of breath. Steve tightened his hold on Bucky and then made himself let go and step back. Bucky’s hands fell away from Steve and allowed it.

Steve felt his senses coming back to him and realized, with a dawning, horrified wonder, that he and Bucky had kissed. A lot. Together. He couldn’t remember ever kissing anyone quite like that. Certainly not a man, and definitely not his old friend.

The blush that reddened Steve’s face was, he was sure, as bright as a brake light. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Bucky’s eyes. “Um-”

“You ready?” Bucky sounded as calm and controlled as he always did. Steve risked looking up and saw Bucky looking normal. The intensity was gone from his eyes and his reddened lips were the only evidence of something out of the ordinary.

“Um?” Steve’s wasn’t sure what to do with his hands now. Should they hang loose at his side? Clasped behind him? Tucked in his pockets? His hands didn’t know how to be normal after clutching at Bucky’s hard strength.

“You ready to head out? We can still get a few hours of driving in if we leave now.”

Though his face remained mildly inquisitive, the twitch at the corner of Bucky’s lips betrayed his amusement.

Steve didn’t think his face could get any redder but he could almost feel the heat radiating outwards. “We just - You’re going to just -”

Bucky’s heart-stopping smiled flashed across his face and he took a step forward to clap his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Try not to worry Steve, we’ll figure it out. In the meanwhile, I was promised a road trip. Let’s get this adventure started.” Bucky winked and squeezed Steve’s shoulder. He turned and headed out, scooping up Steve’s duffel as he breezed out the door.

His body thrumming, Steve stared after Bucky. He raised his hand and brushed his fingertips across his lips. They were still tingling and warm. He looked around his empty apartment and then back at the open door.

“'Till the end of the line,” he muttered under his breath, and followed Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I agonized a bit over having Bucky be so talkative, but I think he had to say something or explode. Hopefully it wasn't too jarring.
> 
> ANYWAY! Where should Bucky and Steve head to...I do love a good road trip. Lots can happen on them ;)


End file.
